


Baby's breath

by jack-of-alltrades (bumblebeeJacky)



Series: Gods AU [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Forest God Brock, Forest King Brock, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, No Dialogue, normal mortal brian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 08:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17804357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeeJacky/pseuds/jack-of-alltrades
Summary: What doctor could help a god that seemingly didn't even know what was going on with himself?





	Baby's breath

Brock made a wonderful king of nature. He always looked the part somehow, whether he was in a fancy suit for a meeting, or shorts and a t-shirt on a hot summer day. Vines curled around his legs from seemingly nowhere, attached to nothing but him, flowers could grow in his skin as well as thorns. A crown of leaves, twigs and poppies was almost always in place on his head, especially if he was out among the very thing he ruled.

Brock was a kind man. It was as if he modeled his life after the phrase ‘do unto others’, getting frustrated at most but always, always letting it go when someone bothered him. No one had ever seen the king truly angry, and he was sure no one ever would, but Brock was a kind man until given reason to be otherwise, and by how quiet and sweet he was, the mortal had to wonder if no one had seen it because no one had survived.

Brock was a charming person. He had bright hazel eyes, messy hair and a pretty smile that could win just about anyone over. He had a soft spoken voice that got loud in the heat of the moment sometimes and it was as if he was an open book sometimes when he interacted with others – you could tell when he was being sincere in an apology versus when he was being sarcastic with his friends, but there was never any venom to the teasing bite.

Brock was a loyal god. He knew what he ruled over, but he stayed true to what ruled his heart no matter what happened. It was special when you found yourself a spot in the nature god’s heart, because when that happened, unless you committed a great crime against him, he was a truly loyal, good friend. He was there to soothe the mortal’s rage, he was there to laugh with them, and he was there with solutions when they didn’t see any.

Brock grew thorns along his skin. Baby’s breath, hydrangea, zinnia and dahlia petals getting coughed up with drips of blood to follow sometimes – the mortal knew, because he was there to pick out the thorns and pat his pack and clean up the blood and petals. What doctor could help a god that seemingly didn’t even know what was going on with himself? The mortal did his research every day after Brock fell asleep. He never told him.

Brock was so in love. Brock was in love, and the only thing killing him was his own fear holding him back from admitting the truth. The mortal asked about the petals – not why, but what were they, and he wondered why Brock was silent for so long before whispering each name as he lay his head against his favorite mortal’s shoulder. He looked up the meanings as Brock fell asleep on him. He felt both his heart and stomach twist up tight.

Brock was hurting. The mortal knew that, and spent more and more time with him. He’d clean up petals and blood and thorns. He’d let Brock lay his head in his lap, running fingers so gently through dark locks until the king was asleep in his lap. He planned out his next move, figured he knew just how to help him. But it all depended on Brock cooperating and giving him the time of day, trusting the mortal as much as the mortal trusted him.

Brock was getting better. Less petals, less blood, less thorns. The mortal told Brock one day as the king was nearly asleep in his lap again. Baby’s breath signified everlasting love and innocence. Even Brock’s breath went quiet as he listened. Blue hydrangea’s symbolized regret and request for forgiveness. White zinnia symbolized pure goodness, and pink dahlias symbolized unwavering kindness and love without compromise. Brock stayed silent.

Brock was asked who he loved. He never answered, stomach twisting in knots at the look his favorite mortal gave him, blue eyes pleading for an answer to save his life. Blue eyes he’d fallen so deeply in love with long ago. Brock took his hands. A little rough, but still soft. Kind hands that took care of anything placed in them, soft hands that ran through his hair and over his back and pressed warm to his cheeks. Brock was so in love.

Brock was done being scared. He was tired of coughing up petals, and he was tired of fear twisting his heart up whenever he locked eyes with the mortal. He was done ruling as some powerful nature god and king when he couldn’t even handle the affairs of his heart. He was done shying away from the truth. So he opened his mouth and out spilled the truth of baby’s breath, hydrangeas, zinnias, dahlias and roses without thorns.

And Brock was loved back. Out spilled the bloody truth of soft, fragile petals that could be torn so easily in the wrong hands, out spilled the truth into soft hands that took care of anything placed within them, warm ocean eyes that never looked at him with anything other than a fond, kind gaze and a toothy grin reflecting that warmth, that open book that was his love. The mortal knew no one knew of Brock’s anger, or perhaps lived to tell the tale.

But he’d live to tell the tale of his love, something much more powerful than his rage. Brian was just as in love with Brock as the god was with him, each absolutely infatuated with each other, each absolutely in love with each other. A soft, rare love that wrapped their hearts warmly and safely in soft petals and thornless vines meant to protect but never hurt. Brian never hurt Brock, and when he was warned by his friends to never do so, he smiled. He smiled, ocean eyes meeting the prettiest hazel he’d ever seen, and he said that if he were to hurt Brock, he’d deserve the destruction he’d receive from the very god he vowed to love until the end of time.

Brock made a wonderful king of nature, and he never coughed up petals again.


End file.
